Raising Boys or Berserkers?

At this point, I am convinced that I am just not very "with it," as a mother. 


Case in point:


Wednesday, I decided we would take the day off and go to the lake, cause we can. We went to the dollar store and bought drinks and snacks and water toys. I bought my 12 and 10 year olds blow up pugil sticks. In case you don't know what those are, here is a definition from Dictionary.com, "a long pole or stick with padded ends used to carry out mock combat."


We took them to the lake, where the boys used them as buoys for the sinking rock. 


The next day, I hear them talking about jousting on their bikes with them. "Well," I think, "that's what they're for. I think I'll go take some pictures."

Here they are:

It's cute and fun and educational. Never-mind that we are studying the middle ages next year.


I got done with picture taking and came inside. Minutes later, I hear screaming. I am not a mom who jumps every time I hear screaming. Q isn't having fun unless he's screaming. So, I waited for the offendee to come inside and report the offense. 


And here comes Q. "Why is your brother screaming?" 
"I told him I was done and he wouldn't stop and he made me fall down and almost smash my head on the concrete so I was calling him to me to tell him something..."
"Hang on, you and I both know you were not simply calling him to you to tell him something. Don't give me half the truth." 
"Then (Q almost always insists on continuing with his version of the story, I don't even know why I try) then I..."
M bursts in now, "He threw a rock at me!"
A huge no-no at our house. Not because M is covered in scars from rocks (although he is), but because we have had to replace two windshields due to rock throwing.  
"And he jerked the seat off my bike and the chain too!"
"No I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
Q, go put M's bike back together. M go get your brother's bike and bring it in. 


Sigh...I am so sick of playing turning into fighting. I am weary of it. I have done everything. But I am powerless to stop them.


Later in the day, we went to the pool, where the pool attendant told them to calm down, after I already told them to once. So we left. 


I called SB, "Why Why do they do it?" They can't just play calmly, it's always full-on violent and physical. Someone always gets hurt. It always turns into an argument.


SB's answer, "I grew up in a house of girls, maybe this is normal behavior for a house of boys." 


Dear God, NO!


Maybe I need to go read Bringing Up Boys again?


Wait until we get around to studying Vikings. They'll be so happy to learn about berserkers.


I'm going to need more wine, I think.